Warm in full sun, we use the largest boulders as seats,
unlace our shoes, pull off our socks, swerve and dawdle
into wind, and someone must watch the waves ashore.
Gulls caw. Pelicans love a line along a swell.
You notice, watching the waves ashore, how singular
each wave is. You notice, watching the waves ashore,
some pools blue deeper than knees. Sanderlings hurry.
Cormorants dive. And someone, someone, someone,
someone - someone must watch the waves ashore.
Birds call and call. A low eastern sun rises warm.
Wind eases among palms, over the floral hedge,
drifts over the steady gather and small roar -
the shore break, salt water neither cool nor warm,
vague green as it fluffs and swirls coarse sand
that goes deeper underfoot until you swim
awkward, as land muscles unknot and lengthen
into a rhythm, inhale and heartbeat, one sea
inside, the other filling your ears.
Each swell lifts you a foot or so, the beach from here
a postcard: sand and palms. Hang onto this -
qualities of air, how, resting, buoyant, you look up:
on water whirling through all the empyrean
you are floated by the earth